


Cold Falls The Night

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguing, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Darkening of Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10494114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Anairë and Irissë part in anger.





	

**Author's Note:**

> B2MEM, Red Path, "The world withers and the wind rises; the candles are quenched. Cold falls the night."

Anairë took a deep breath, gathering herself for another attempt. "Please do not go," she said softly. "Irissë, my daughter, I know you yearn for wide lands and freedom, but Beleriand is dangerous, and full of woe." Some foresight was on her, and the breath went from her body as she saw with a mother's vision her only daughter slashing her way through spiderwebs, a fierce and determined look on her face. 

Irissë shook her head. "Is Valinor any different? We here have come from bliss to woe!" Her voice sounded like it was not quite her own, Fëanáro's words in her mouth, the same passion that had taken the rest of her children and her husband indwelling within her. "I most assuredly shall not stay behind, and if you rue and would avenge Grandfather's death, if you would reclaim what our Enemy has stolen away, if you would be revenged for our loss of the Trees, then I say to you, come with us! If you love us, if you love Father, do not stay behind in the dark. Come with us to seek the light!" She bent forward, her strong hands on Anairë's shoulders, her eyes wide and bright, coaxing. 

Anairë might have gone then. Not for her sons, not for her husband, but for the daughter who pleaded so eloquently, who was so steadfast, who faced such a dark fate. 

"Irissë," she breathed, all a mother's love in her voice. "You are all grown, my children, and I have done the best I can. I long for no other home but this. And if it is dark here, then I will trust the Valar to provide light, as they did before."

"The work of the Trees can never be done again," Irissë said. "I heard Yavanna's words myself. She cannot recreate them." 

"Then they will come up with something else," Anairë said, her voice sliding away from patience. She jerked herself out of her daughter's hold, stepping backwards to pick up a forgotten dish from the table, just to have something in her hands. "I see no reason to rush headlong into danger and fear just because Fëanáro has!" 

"You also speak with words not your own," Irissë said. "Those are Eärwen's words! Have you taken counsel with her?"

"I have," Anairë said. "We both agreed that we would not go." She set the dish on a sideboard, and turned back to face Irissë. 

"But everyone is going!" Irissë cried. "Father is going, we are all going, Findaráto is going, Artanis is going, and you know she hates Fëanáro! Will you and Eärwen stay behind alone?"

"If we must, alone of the Noldor," Anairë said. 

Irissë's hands moved in a violent gesture of denial. "Cursed stubbornness, now I know where we get it from! Will you not be moved?" 

Anairë shook her head and set her teeth. "No. Only danger and death awaits you, my child. Would you ride openly to your doom?"

"How can I stay behind in safety and boredom forever? If not now, then when may I venture forth? When all the seas are dried up, and I may walk from here to Beleriand? When all the world has frozen over? When the Black Enemy snatches children from the very gates of Tirion and the Valar do nothing, nothing? May I go then, Mother?" 

She turned on her heel, as if to suit the action to the word and leave the room immediately, but turned back again to spit one last sentence. "I may go to my doom, and an ill fate, but at least I will not sit idly by in the dark!" 

The door slammed, and the candle at Anairë's side blew out in the gust of wind. Irissë was gone. Slowly Anairë ventured to the window to see her only daughter running out the gate, and swinging onto her horse. She carried little with her, only one small bag of clothing, and her sword strapped at her side.

Anairë relit the candle, then made her way down the hall to Irissë's room, a wild tumble of garments and jewellery and childhood treasures, all discarded. She sat down on the bed, picking up a small ceramic statue of a blue frog Curufinwë had crafted for Irissë when they were both children. For a moment she stared at the pretty thing, and then on a sudden intake of breath, dashed it to the ground, where it shattered into a million pieces. 

Outside, in the dark, the wind rose, blowing open the shutters on Irissë's windows, startling her. She stood, brushing bits of pottery from her path with her foot, and moved to look out. In the dark beyond dark, no light shone, save the cold and distant light of the stars.


End file.
